


The Kubler-Ross Model Has Exceptions

by sergeant17thstreet



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Dream Apologists Do Not Interact, Five Stages of Grief, Gen, God Complex, Graphic Description, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Murder, Pandora's Vault Prison, Prison, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Unhappy Ending, Villain Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 19:06:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29829516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sergeant17thstreet/pseuds/sergeant17thstreet
Summary: A story in five acts, two settings, about one broken, broken man.It may take a village to raise a child, but the rage of a God could surely kill one just the same.This is how Dream snaps.
Comments: 17
Kudos: 42





	The Kubler-Ross Model Has Exceptions

**Author's Note:**

> Please heed the tags, this is heavy angst involving the canonically brutal death of a child.  
> It isn't until the end, if you don't want to read, stop before "Dream’s voice is deceptively calm as he responds, “How do you know?”"
> 
> o7

Dream couldn’t take one more second of the child’s stupid, incessant bickering. He would take an eternity of crushing silence in his isolation over ten more minutes with this yapping creature. That’s how low this stupid little thing is to him. Clawing at the walls, pacing like a caged animal, desperately howling and whining and keening for his freedom. It reminded him too much of his first week in the prison, Kubler-Ross model playing out and hitting much too close to home.

**Stage One: Denial.**

_“Sam, I’ve done nothing wrong, you can’t just lock me in here! I own this prison, I own you, I own this fucking server! I helped you build this thing, let me out, let me out right fucking now!” Dream screamed himself hoarse in less than an hour, vocal cords straining to reach across a lava lake, countless blocks of obsidian, and straight to the warden’s checkpoint. He couldn’t be trapped, no that’s not how the story goes, that’s not how the story is supposed to play out, he’s supposed to win. He’s supposed to hold his bloodied sword like a righteous goddamn angel, passing judgement over his server, ruling as he sees fit. He’s supposed to be standing over the corpses of the two biggest problems of the server, Nightmare’s bloodied blade in his right hand, the two most valuable items on the server in his left. A true God, “The Big Man'' as declared by one of the aforementioned problems._

“Sam, I’ve done nothing wrong, you can’t just lock me in here! I own the biggest build on the server, you know, you fucking helped me build that hotel! I own it, let me out, let me out right fucking now!” Tommy screeches himself hoarse, voice straining to reach across that boiling lava lake, through countless blocks of obsidian muffling his cries, and trying to pierce straight through to the warden’s heart. He’s not supposed to be in here, he’s paid for his “crimes”, he’s supposed to be getting closure, he’s supposed to be opening the BigInnit hotel with Tubbo at his side, his discs in hand. 

“Tommy would you just shut _up_?! You heard the warden, it’s a week in here until he figures out what happened. Sit the fuck down and get over yourself. Time moves faster that way.” Dream spits the words at him, his tone laced with bitterness, vitriol, covered in gasoline and lit on fire. If looks could kill, Tommy’s blood would already be mingling with the oozing purple slime that drips from the obsidian. “I wrote that damn contract myself, you’re in here for a week. Like it or not, we’re stuck like this.”

A myriad of emotions flicker across the teen’s face. Anger, horror, hurt, _gaping glaring clearset fear_ , before settling on defiant annoyance. 

“You think I can’t survive a week with you, bitch? I’ll be out before you ever will, don't forget that, green boy.” And with that, Tommy sits down, back against the wall, and shuts his eyes. As if he wasn’t locked in a room with his greatest enemy, surrounded by his least favorite block, encased in a lake of scorching lava. As if he wasn’t locked up anywhere at all. 

**Stage Two: Anger**

_Long, drawn out screams claw their way from Dream’s throat. The cell is in complete disarray, the lectern half-scorched in the lava, the cauldron tipped over, the chest cracked in half from him hurling it at the wall. He stands hunched in the center of the wreckage, hands buried in his hair, yanking at the strands for some semblance of control. His mask is gone, completely shattered, porcelain shards ground to dust underfoot by half the server when they hauled him into this hell. He’d do anything for just that little bit of control, to shield his emotions from everyone, himself included. He couldn’t even see what he looks like but he knows it’s not pretty. Every scar, every twitch of his eye, every minute change in his emotion is being broadcast to whatever audience happens to be watching._

_“LET ME OUT NOW SAM, LET ME OUT RIGHT THE FUCK NOW! WHEN I GET OUT OF HERE I’M COMING FOR YOU FIRST! YOU BETTER LET ME THE FUCK OUT, I KNOW WHERE YOU FUCKING SLEEP, I’LL DESTROY YOU FIRST! I’LL TEAR THIS SERVER UP BLOCK BY BLOCK TO FIND YOU AND ANYTHING YOU CARE ABOUT!”_

Long drawn out screams rip themselves from Tommy’s mouth. He’s in another fit of howling, words blending together, each syllable melding into the next. His stupid accent doesn’t help either, it only seemed to thicken with his rising emotions. The lectern is toppled over, the chest is belching torn pages, the cauldron hasn’t budged because the kid isn’t strong enough to tip it over but there are several sizable dents on the basin. 

Dream sits cross legged near the respawn pool, a few books and his clock clutched in his arms. He immediately recognizes the rapid, ragged breaths that indicated an attack of some kind and moves to protect the few valuables he still has left. He watches in apathy as Tommy comes apart just as Dream once had. 

It’s pathetic. 

“LET ME OUT SAM! LET ME OUT RIGHT THE FUCK NOW! THIS ISN’T FAIR! I’M NOT MEANT TO BE HERE!” 

Tommy is inches from the wall of lava, head tipped back as if he could broadcast his voice past the prison, to reach the eardrums of someone who cares. Dream rolls his eyes and tunes out the child as Tommy takes a deep breath to begin another round of screeching.

Dream huffs, takes a book in hand, and lobs it at Tommy’s back. The scream cuts off as he chokes on the air in his throat, the book landing squarely in the small of his back. Right on the scar from Nightmare, where Dream had run him through not seven months before. He remembers because it was where he had jabbed the point of his sword to make Tommy walk faster, on that very first trip to his exile. 

Tommy’s head whips around, ruefully rubbing the scar as he stares at Dream, mouth agape in surprise.

It just pisses Dream off more. “Stop pitching a bitch fit. Sam said a week, he means a week. It might even be longer if you keep annoying him.” He carefully enunciates each word, clipping them short. 

Tommy doesn’t pick up on the building tension. “Sam wouldn’t do that to me.”

Dream barks out a laugh. Tommy was still naïve as ever. “Yeah, I thought that too once.” He spreads his arms as if to encapsulate the absurdity of their situation. “You think you know someone and then they throw you into a prison of your own design. Fucking sucks, doesn’t it? Remind you of anyone?”

The words drip from his mouth, tone saccharine and deceptively sweet, barely concealing the bitter implications underneath.

“You shut the fuck up about Tubbo. He had nothing to do with this.” Tommy crosses his arms, glaring Dream down.

The other raises his hands in mock defense, a smirk cutting across his face. “Who said anything about Tubbo? I was aiming more for the fact that you thought Sam was a friend and he readily tossed you in here with me. How’s that feel, _Big Man_?”

Tommy snarls and grabs for the book, winding his arm back to chuck it at Dream. He calmly watches as the teen hurls it at his head and simply leans to his left, dodging the projectile with ease. 

“You still have shit aim by the way, I saw that coming from a mile away.” Dream grins as the words land on one of Tommy’s glaring insecurities.

Tommy makes another wordless noise of frustration. He stamps his feet, sending small splashes of obsidian ooze splattering onto his shoes. 

Dream tsks, taking small pleasure from the outburst. After all this time, Tommy is as predictable as ever. Dream silently thanks Ranboo for trapping Tommy here. He doesn’t even care about getting the teen back on his side, he just wants someone else to vent his frustrations to. 

**Stage Three: Bargaining**

_Dream sits on the back wall of his cell, reclined back like the obsidian wall supporting him is a throne and he is still a king. He has the air of the cat that got the canary, like he holds all the cards. And somehow, some way, despite losing everyone, everything, even his stupid little smiley mask…..he still holds all the cards. He has admin blood, a favor from_ **_the_ ** _Technoblade on his side, the knowledge of resurrection, and he still has his mind intact after more than two months in Pandora’s Vault._

_He crooned to the intercom overhead, tossing his clock from hand to hand. “Saaaaaaaam, you have to let me out eventually. I’m the admin, if I go down, this server goes down with me.” When he received no response, he frowned._

_“Here, Sam, I’ll cut you a deal. When I escape, because I will escape, don’t forget I sketched those blueprints right alongside you, I’ve got a to-do list. Care to know what the first priority is?”_

_Silence again. “Well I’m sure you’re listening so I’ll just tell you. First priority, killing Tubbo. Now I know what you’re thinking Sammy, shouldn’t I target Tommy instead? No actually. See if I kill Tommy, there goes all the fun on this server. He’s fun to torment, you saw that in exile, don’t you remember Sam? Hopefully that egg didn’t scramble your brain too much.” Dream paused to laugh at his own joke._

_He continued. “But no, I’ll kill Tubbo to get Tommy on my side. See he cares so much about all his stupid little friends, all his dumb little attachments, all you have to do is threaten one of them and he folds like a house of cards. I beat the shit out of that kid every day for two months, he didn’t say a word. The second I mentioned his discs? Bam, he was in my face, shouting and screaming that he would do_ **_anything_ ** _, to stop me from destroying them. It’s that easy, all I have to do is kill Tubbo one time and he’s mine to play with until I get tired of him. Did you know, one time-”_

_The sound of grinding pistons cut him off. The lava is parting before the floating platform like the Red Sea, Sam as Moses with his glimmering trident clenched in his right hand. He hasn’t even bothered to raise the netherite barrier, he is clearly in a hurry to get to Dream. He stalked across the barrier, golden boots squelching in the obsidian residue as he made his way over to Dream._

_Dream was practically beaming, he’d gotten the exact reaction from Sam that he wanted. He opened his mouth for a snarky one liner but the warden drew his sword before Dream could even speak._

_“Do you ever. Shut. The fuck._ **_Up_ ** _?!” Sam’s left hand is shaking, betraying the anger his mask hides. He fists his hand in the collar of Dream’s jumpsuit, hauling the prisoner to his feet and slamming him into the wall._

_“I know what you did to that poor kid, I see it every time he flinches when I do something as simple as putting a hand on his shoulder or walking behind him. So what’s your plan, you sick son of a bitch?”_

“Dream, what’s your plan?” Tommy is still facing him, glaring directly into Dream’s eyes.

The question catches him off guard. “What do you mean, my plan?” 

Tommy scoffs and rolls his eyes. “You always have a plan. It’s why you are the way you are. Always fucking plottin’ and shit. So what’s your plan, bitch?”

It’s Dream’s turn to scoff. “Any plan I made involving my escape relied on two things: this cell being solid obsidian and no annoying child pestering me. Face it Tommy, you’re only stuck in here for maybe three more days.” Dream cranes his neck back to look at the obsidian, tracing the dripping patterns for the thousandth time. 

His relaxed nature seems to set something off in Tommy. He explodes again, throwing his hands to the ceiling. “I don’t have three more days! I don’t want to be stuck in here with you again! You-” He stops, as if choking on his words. He opens and closes his mouth a few more times, gasping like a fish.

“You make me a worse person. I-It’s like I’m fucking conditioned to feel bad for you, to want to be your friend when we’re all alone like this. _You_ made me a worse person.” By the end of his little tirade, Tommy’s arms are crossed and he’s hunching into himself. As if to ward off an incoming blow. 

Dream lowers his head to look at Tommy. To really look at him. 

Tommy looks like he did at the start of his exile. His clothes are starting to show signs of wear from the constant grime, his face has small burns from leaning too close to the lava, his green bandana is singed and stained. His body language has already shifted, shoulders hunching to shrink himself down, to take up as little space as possible. He looks like he’d rather be facing down Technoblade than sitting four measly blocks away from Dream.

The former ruler looks at his options carefully. Behind door number one: he leaves Tommy alone for just those three more days and the kid goes free. Behind door number two, one last chance to regain control over _his_ server, to sink his teeth into one last semblance of power before Sam’s eternal mercy runs out. 

Dream knows which option he’s taking; it’s hardly a choice at this stage. “You’re stuck in here, same as me. Dealing with the devil won’t get you out any faster. But I’m more than willing to see what you’re willing to trade away.”

**Stage Four: Depression**

_Dream stared at the wall of lava for what felt like the thousandth time. His gaze slowly trailed from the lava to the line of netherite to the crying obsidian dripping overhead. Sam had installed it…..Dream doesn’t know how long ago. Enough time passed that he had lost track. Sam had taken his clock when he installed the obsidian, as punishment for trying to escape. Now Dream’s back to zero attachments. He’d burned all his books as well, hoping that a stray spark would somehow catch, igniting a purple swirling void and signalling the beginning of his triumphant return._

_But to no avail. And now he’s bookless, clock-less, and emotionless. A shell staring at the cascading lava, the swirling orange and yellow patterns dancing across his vision. His dull eyes follow the swirls until he gets sick of them and cranes his head upward to watch the drip, drip, drip of the crying obsidian._

_And repeat. For days on end, that’s how it went. The black void of sleep, the swirling orange glow of the lava, the gentle pulsating purple of the crying obsidian._

_Until he couldn’t stand it a second longer._

_With a cry, he wrenched his head from the floor to stare at the lava. Watches as yellow mixed with orange melting into red heated to yellow and cooled back down to orange again. Dream stared transfixed at the lava and then he got an idea._

_He slowly stood on shaky legs and started to walk towards the warm glow. He can’t fucking take one more minute of just watching the lava, no, he needs to participate. He needs to find a way to control it, to tame this force of nature, to bend it to his will as all things have before._

_Dream carefully extended his shaking hand into the cascade. At first warmth pooled in his hand. Then it became a searing, unbearable pain, but he didn't remove his arm. Instead he inched his arm further in, sinking it into the burning heat. The sleeve of his prison jumpsuit caught fire, flames chewing their way up to his shoulder, his neck, cooking the flesh. A gruesome sizzle filled the cell._

_He took another step, fully engulfing himself into the lava. It’s an all consuming, wretched pain. It’s burning and drowning and scorching and Dream barely clung to his sanity long enough to keep his mouth shut so he doesn’t choke. He maintained consciousness for one more blistering, burning second before he died._

_When the spawn trap pushed him into the respawn pool, he immediately staggered out and threw himself back into the lava. When he’s revived the second time, a knife sharp grin cuts across his face. He charges into the lava again._

_And again._

_And again._

_And again._

_And again._

_ <Dream tried to swim in lava> _

_ <Dream tried to swim in lava> _

**_< Dream tried to swim in lava>_ **

**_< D r e a m t r i e d t o s w i m i n l a v a >_ **

_The next time he’s revived in the pool, a dim, gray potion shattered over his skull. Immediately his limbs went slack and a tingly numbness spread across his body The smell of fermented spider’s eye told him it’s a potion of weakness. Sam’s trying to sedate him, trying to send him spiraling back into the void, into the nothingness. He tries to force his limbs to cooperate, to push him up, back into the lava, back into_ **_feeling_ ** _but they just flop about like wet noodles._

_All he has the strength to do is turn his head to watch the lava part before that same floating platform. Warden Sam, here to deliver him from suffering._

The all powerful Warden doesn’t come to deliver Tommy from suffering. Or from evil. Or even from hell, he’s the one that trapped the poor child in here. With Dream.

When Tommy’s not shouting at the top of his lungs or singing nonsense songs to keep Dream’s venomous words out of his ears, he’s sat as close to the lava as possible. Almost as if, should Dream even think about moving closer, Tommy would dive in and that would be all he wrote.

Dream doesn’t watch Tommy so much as he observes him. Outwardly he appears calmly detached, as if the child isn’t even there. Inside he feels a wave of joy wash over him. Just over five days in this little cell and Tommy is already reverting back to the way he was in exile.

Dream could see it etched in the hunch of his shoulders, the way the kid flinched every time Dream so much as breathed in his direction, the slow dulling of his spirit as his cornflower blue eyes faded to navy.

Too easy. 

  
  


**Stage Five: Acceptance**

_Dream is just starting to shake off the effects of the daily weakness potion. Sam splashed one on him every day to prevent him from hurling his body into the lava. In exchange for his compliance, the warden so graciously let him keep his clock. He even extended his mercy far enough to enchant it with a fire resistance, so even if Dream does chuck it in the lava, he could easily reach his hand in to retrieve it._

_‘How kind of him’, Dream thinks as he stares at the clock._

_He’s just preparing for his mid-afternoon snack of potatoes when the intercom crackles overhead._ _  
_

_“Dream, you have a visitor. Tommy’s here to see you.”_

Dream and Tommy are sitting down, preparing for their “whatever time of day” meal of potatoes when the intercom crackles overhead.

Dream mostly ignored whatever bullshit niceties Sam is telling Tommy, instead choking down his raw potato. He distantly wishes he had planned for the prisoners to get ketchup or even salt and pepper with their meals. It doesn’t matter though, when he escapes he’ll raze Pandora’s Vault to the ground, with hope crushed under the wreckage.

He glances sideways at the aforementioned hope, only to find him standing underneath the speaker, bellowing up at it. Tommy appears to be shrieking his lungs out once again, chattering nonsense about how he doesn’t belong here, that he would get out, about how Dream is stuck in here for longer.

Dream goes to stand under the speaker, listening as Sam informs them both that, “There were no external signs of damage, I have to keep you in here just a few days more. I’m sorry Tommy, I’m doing my best to make this as quick as possible. That is all.”

And with those few simple sentences, they were back to square one. Tommy throws his hands in the air once more and begins to pace the cell, potato forgotten on the floor. Dream swipes it for himself, sitting cross legged on the wall and watching.

Tommy begins his cycle again, blaming Dream, complaining about missing his hotel, bitching about Dream’s face, the usual. Dream ignores him in favor of biting into his potato. He chews methodically as his eyes track Tommy from the lava wall, to the left wall, to the glowstone lamp, and back again.

He can’t just _accept_ that this is what life on this server is like. Sometimes you lose. Momentarily you lose. Maybe you lose a beloved pet, slain in a petty conflict. Maybe you lose a favorite weapon, rightfully worked for but stolen off of your corpse in the aftermath of a useless fight. Maybe it’s a pair of stupid fucking discs that never meant anything to anyone but somehow wove a tapestry of fate that ended in this depressing situation. 

Sometimes you just have to accept that you lost. Tommy could deny he was in the prison, become engulfed in rage at his circumstance, try to bargain with the devil he was locked up with, even zone out just to escape for a brief reprieve. Tommy could cycle through denial, anger, bargaining, depression, but did the kid ever accept his station? No.

Dream watches on with apathy as Tommy draws closer and closer to him. The kid jabs a finger in his face, spits something about him being powerless, being weak, and Dream snaps.

“Shut up, just shut up, Tommy! Why can’t you ever accept that you’ve lost?” He rises to his feet, unfolding to his full height to gain those last few inches over Tommy. “You can’t understand when to give up, when to throw in the towel, all you ever do is create more problems for yourself.”

But it seems that Tommy isn’t just going to roll over and take it today. He spits back at Dream, “And you never fucking leave me alone, do you? You say I create problems, who fucking built this prison we’re both sat in, hmm? It wasn’t me, you can’t twist this to blame me, Dream.” 

Dream pushes himself off the wall and stalks closer to Tommy. “I could kill you at any moment in here Tommy. Within these four walls, I am in full control. I hold your life in my hands and I could end it at any moment.” He takes another step forward. “And I could just as easily bring you back, kicking and screaming. Does that not make me a God?” 

Tommy sneers at the idea. “You’re bullshitting Dream. That stupid book doesn’t exist. You know how I know?”

Dream’s voice is deceptively calm as he responds, “How do you know?”

“‘Cause Schlatt is dead. He didn’t give you anything. That prick is dead and gone, I’ve seen his grave, it’s real. He’s gone-”

Tommy is cut off. As is his air supply. Navy blue eyes look to see a scarred hand wrap around his throat, effectively silencing him. 

“Why don’t you go talk to him, then?” 

The sickening crunch of shattering bone sounds through the cell. Again. And again. And again. And again and again and again and Dream continues smashing Tommy’s head into the ground. _He’s so fucking sick of this insignificant child who fucked with all of his plans and ruined his server and now he’s finally doing something about it._

He doesn’t even register the blip of the death message telling him that _ <TommyInnit was slain by Dream> _. He only notices when his hands come up coated purple-red, almost like a bruise. The pulp of the child’s skull had mixed with the obsidian residue to form a sticky, sickening paste. 

Dream lets Tommy’s limp body slide out of his hands, like a puppet with its strings sliced. 

He did it. He _did_ it. It may have taken a village to raise this insolent child, but a God could still kill him. Here he was, a righteous angel passing the only judgement that would ever matter. And the sheer fucking absurdity of his situation finally pushes him over the edge. 

A laugh rips its way from his throat, clawing its way from his voice box to echo off the obsidian walls. It reverberates, multiplies, until Dream is surrounded by the sound of his own cackles, bouncing off the walls and into his head.

The shrieking sound of his laughter echo across the lava lake, countless blocks of obsidian, and straight to the warden’s checkpoint. The voice of God is always the loudest, commanding the attention of those who chose to listen.

Immediately the intercom crackles with static, Sam’s voice demanding to know what he did. Dream doesn’t bother to respond, the warden will know his final crime soon enough.

He carefully bends down, so that his ears are tickled by the soft blond strands that mirror his own. 

“Who’s God now, you fucking child?”

**Author's Note:**

> so.........that happened. the inspiration for this fic was literally that one liner from Dream, "“Why don’t you go talk to him, then?”, and then just spiraled from there. so i was mostly inspired by the fuck tons of gorgeously horrific art that came out after tommy's stream and then when sam said "I lowered the lava and he was laughing. He was laughing about it." i knew i just had to write it. 
> 
> also *this* is now my longest fic, grinded out over 3 days, with input from many lovely writers in the Dream SMP Big Bang server, which I am now a part of! so surprise, you get to see me write more than just plain angst. im versatile, i promise. 
> 
> as always, kudos boost my soul and comments fuel me to write things like this. my tumblr is sergeant17thstreet, and you can hit me up on twitter @sergeant17th


End file.
